


Once smitten, twice shy

by ricekrispyjoints



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Timeline, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Complete, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Growing Up, If You Squint - Freeform, Insecure Victor Nikiforov, Insecure Yuri Plisetsky, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, POV by chapter, Personal Growth, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Canon, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, everyone has two soulmates, one is your lover the other is your rival/enemy, rated for language I guess, tho it begins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-23 09:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricekrispyjoints/pseuds/ricekrispyjoints
Summary: On your left wrist, the Name of your one true love. On your right, your enemy, your rival, your greatest competition.Viktor has two Yuris.Katsuki Yuuri has got his role model slash lifelong crush on the left, and his own name on the right.And Yuri Plisetsky? He was hoping to be free of this nonsense, but maybe a rivalry won't be so bad.





	1. Viktor

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on a soulmates AU kick lately and I haven't written as much as I'd like recently bc #ThesisHell and then i remembered this premise and was like there are two Yuris... surely i can make something of this... and then i did
> 
> i spelled both Yuris the same bc it's sort of meant to be confusing as this is from Viktor's POV... i used last names and Yurio to help but let me know if there's anywhere that's uh,, confusing ~~bc i definitely didn't proofread this haha oops~~ update: i proofread ! 
> 
> also lol that title is a terrible play on "once bitten twice shy" it's 1h30a creativity machine broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like any healthy teenager, Viktor Nikiforov receives his Names on an average day when he’s sixteen: one on his left wrist and one on his right.  
> His greatest love and his fated rival.  
> What he isn’t expecting, however, is for the names on both wrists to match.

Like any healthy teenager, Viktor Nikiforov receives his Names on an average day when he’s sixteen: one on his left wrist and one on his right.

His greatest love and his fated rival.

What he isn’t expecting, however, is for the names on both wrists to match.

Юрий on the left; Юрий on the right.

Couldn’t he at least get a patronymic or a last initial to help him out?

He wonders if this means that there’s only one Yuri, one he will love and be rivals with, somehow paradoxically fulfilling both fates in the same person.

Then again, Yuri is a common enough name, so perhaps he’s just been unfortunate to get two people with the same name.

Viktor is certain that he will have no difficulty distinguishing between his two Yuris: after all, he’s meant to love one deeply, and hate the other.

* * *

When Yakov gives Viktor more control over his own choreography, Viktor is thrilled.

If he can just make the most beautiful, skilled, perfect routines, then he will surely inspire his rival-Yuri to show up on the circuit. Or, failing that, his lover-Yuri will surely become deeply enamored with how talented and beautiful he is on the ice, and that would be just as well, though admittedly Viktor doesn’t have much time for love in his training schedule.

The first couple of years after his Names appear, Viktor scans the smaller competition circuits all across Russia and into other Slavic countries too, just in case. Viktor wouldn’t mind if his Yuri isn’t Russian, after all. If he can find his rival-Yuri, he just knows that his own skating will become even stronger.

It’s a win-win, really.

No one shows up, though, and so Viktor thinks perhaps his choreography just needs some more work.

He’ll get it right sooner or later.

He will.

* * *

Yakov’s latest student is… quite something.

Normally, Viktor wouldn’t pay much attention to an 8-year-old, but when said skater’s name is Yuri, he takes notice.

Viktor is already 20, so it seems laughable to consider this little blond child his _rival_.

Sure, he’s an excellent skater at such a young age, but Viktor doesn’t feel remotely threatened. He’s already got a bronze and two silvers at the Grand Prix Final; it’s only a matter of time before he gets the gold.

Viktor smirks to himself.

He’ll give Yuri Plisetsky a few years before he decides if _this_ Yuri is _his_ Yuri.

* * *

By the time Viktor is 25, he’s getting rather impatient.

He knows his competitive skating career doesn’t have that many years left in it, and he really can’t imagine having a fated rival appear only _after_ he’s retired. His rival-Yuri better show up soon.

Yuri Plisetsky is on top of the podium at nearly every Juniors competition, but he’s still only 14, and won’t even be old enough for Seniors for another year.

When Viktor puts together the _Stammi Vicino_ routine for the upcoming season, he pours every emotion he can into it. It feels like this may be his last chance, one last effort to find his rival… or his lover.

There may not be any Yuris on the Seniors circuit yet—and Viktor has scoured all of Eastern Europe for one—but perhaps…

Perhaps focusing on finding his lover-Yuri wouldn’t be so bad now.

Viktor isn’t sure what the future holds, but he’s truly starting to believe that his skating career has fewer years left than he thought.

He’d rather go out on top, after all, and not as a washed-up has-been, or worse, from some horrible injury.

He’ll give it his all next year, and if it turns up neither rival nor lover, well…

Viktor will cross that bridge when he comes to it.

* * *

The Grand Prix Final is always a whirlwind, so Viktor doesn’t really think he can be blamed for not knowing much about his fellow competitors.

Chris is there, naturally, and Viktor hangs out with him the night of their arrival in Sochi, but mostly he keeps to himself, focused on his routines.

During the first official warm-up before the Short Program, they announce the first group to take the ice.

“Skaters Jean-Jacques Leroy, Cao Bin, and Yuri Katsuki, please take the ice,” announces an organizer.

And Viktor’s heart stops.

_There’s a Yuri here?_

How, how on earth could he have missed this? He knows the names of nearly every Slavic skater, even those who compete out of America, and –

And he had completely forgotten to consider that Yuri could be a non-Slavic name.

And apparently, this Japanese competitor’s name was Yuri.

The name on his wrist is only in Cyrillic because that’s _Viktor’s_ native tongue, but it doesn’t mean…

Oh, this competition just got very interesting indeed.

Viktor watches the warm-up intently. Obviously, this is Yuri Katsuki’s first Grand Prix Final, or Viktor would have already met him.

And beyond that, the man looks nervous.

His warm-up is quiet, seeming only to allow him to warm up his muscles and joints. He does only two jumps the entire six-minute warm up—both triples—and the landings seem fine, but so far, Viktor isn’t exactly impressed.

If this Yuri Katsuki is his rival-Yuri, well… Viktor’s not sure how, unless this is all some elaborate scheme to save energy or something.

Soon enough, Yakov calls Viktor away so they can discuss last minute things, Viktor needs to stretch, and—well, he’ll watch this Yuri’s short program soon enough, and he’ll see if this is _his_ Yuri.

Yuri Katsuki skates second, and Viktor isn’t sure what to think.

On the one hand, he skates well. He has to be a good skater, or he’d never be at the GPF to begin with.

But is this man really capable of being Viktor’s _rival_? One who will push him, challenge him, fight him for gold?

Given his SP score, Viktor doesn’t think so.

Not this year, at least.

He’ll keep an eye on him next season, perhaps, but for now he’s not going to get his hopes up: he has a fifth consecutive gold medal to win.

And win it he does—Viktor is a runaway for the gold medal, leaving Chris 34.3 points behind him in second and Yuri Katsuki over 100 points in the dust, in sixth and last place.

No, this Yuri can’t be Viktor’s rival-Yuri.

He’s sure of it.

Still, he feels a bit bad that he didn’t even know of the Japanese skater’s existence until the final, so when he passes him in the lobby of the arena, he offers to take a photo with him.

It’s Yuri’s first Grand Prix, so why not take a picture with the winner? It seems only polite to give him something more pleasant to remember than his loss.

Yuri Katsuki, however, doesn’t seem to agree, as Viktor watches the blood drain from his face and he all but flees the rink.

Well, that didn’t go so well.

* * *

The Banquet is usually a fairly standard event: you dress in a nice suit and your medal; you rub shoulders with sponsors and officials and coaches and other skaters.

There’s free booze and fancy hors d’œuvres, too, which is a nice bonus.

It seems that Yuri Katsuki is taking that “free booze” part a little too far, though, as he approaches where Viktor and Chris are standing.

“Viktor!” he announces, followed by a string of Japanese.

“Yuri, we don’t speak Japanese,” Chris reminds him with a gentle laugh.

“Oh, of course,” Yuri grins, speaking English now, at least. “Here is your first lesson then! _Omedetou, Viktor!_ ”

Viktor isn’t sure what that means. Hello, perhaps? How are you? That’s what he would say first to teach someone Russian, he supposes, so he says it back as best he can. “ _Omedetou_.”

“No, silly, you don’t say that to me! You’re the winner, I said congratulations!”

“Where’s my _omedetou_ , then, Yuri?” Chris teases. “Does second mean nothing?”

He feigns being offended, and Yuri panics.

“Ah! _Omedetou! Omedetou Chris-san!_ ” he says quickly, waving his hands frantically.

“Relax, Yuri, I was joking. But thank you,” Chris says. “Can I get you a glass of water, maybe?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Yuri says, “I’m not thirsty. I’ve drank a lot already.”

“We can tell, idiot,” Yuri Plisetsky complains.

“ _Omedetou, Yuri!”_ Yuri Katsuki says, and okay, Viktor thinks, this is going to get confusing.

Plisetsky bristles, clearly not having paid attention to what the Japanese word meant, and Katsuki tries to explain it, while Chris laughs at the terrible communication skills.

But Viktor’s no longer paying attention.

Two Yuris.

He can’t help but feel a shiver down his spine, like he’s supposed to be here.

It doesn’t make sense, because he’s already dismissed both of these Yuris as _his_ Yuris, but what if he was too hasty?

The Russian boy is certainly not going to be his lover, but if Viktor doesn’t retire, Plisetsky will be in the Senior division next season.

Could he really challenge Viktor, though?

And as for the Japanese Yuri, well, Viktor barely knows him.

At the very least, he’s a skater, so they would have things to talk about. Viktor will admit he’s handsome, too, and he seems —

“Well this will be interesting, no?” Chris taps his shoulder, grinning, and gestures where both Yuris are now making space to… dance?

Katsuki is full of surprises, it seems. While it’s not a stretch that he’d be a competent dancer—many skaters are— it’s certainly unexpected that this would extend to breakdancing, especially as inebriated as he is.

Plisetsky refuses to back down, though, and viciously throws himself into his attempt at breakdancing.

It’s clearly that the younger Yuri doesn’t actually know how to breakdance, though his amateur efforts are commendable.

By now, a small crowd is forming around the two of them. Chris has his phone out, recording the whole thing.

Viktor is… entranced.

Katsuki has removed his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt to the elbow. A few of the top buttons are undone, revealing his chest, a bit shiny with sweat.

Viktor takes back about what he thought earlier about Katsuki being handsome: that’s not nearly a strong enough adjective.

On the impromptu dance floor, bright, shining eyes, strong muscles flexing, rhythm pulsing through his body, he is stunning, breathtaking.

Even if there were no music playing, Viktor can see it, can _feel_ it in Yuri’s body.

It’s electrifying.

Viktor wants to both curse and bless Chris for bringing out the pole, because on the one hand, _are you kidding me? At the banquet??_ But he can’t be angry for long, because seeing Yuri Katsuki half-naked, _pole dancing,_ is enough to absolve his devious friend of any misdeeds.

And when Yuri Katsuki asks Viktor to dance, something comes over Viktor.

He’s inescapably drawn into the energy that Yuri creates, can’t possibly say no. He uses his jacket like a matador, and they laugh like Viktor hasn’t laughed in years.

Yuri Plisetsky returns, demanding a rematch at the dance-off that he embarrassingly lost earlier.

“No fucking breakdancing this time,” Plisetsky says. “Free-style ballet. I will _crush you_.”

Katsuki laughs, clean and bright. Somehow, his tie has ended up around his head and Viktor is charmed.

He turns to Viktor and hugs him tightly. Viktor isn’t sure how to respond, and Yuri’s clamping his arms to his sides anyway, so he just sort of lets himself be hugged.

Yuri is babbling about his family’s resort, inviting Viktor to come visit on the off season.

He gasps, as though inspiration has struck. “If I win this dance off, you’ll be my coach, right?” he asks, those beautiful brown eyes shimmering.

He stands up straight, but Viktor barely has time to recover, because Yuri is throwing his arms around Viktor once more.

“Be my coach, Viktor!”

Viktor blushes. Tries to figure out what to say.

How is he supposed to respond to that?

But Yuri is off, joining the Russian Yuri on their dance floor, and their dance battle becomes more of a pirouette battle.

How Katsuki is spinning that much without throwing up is a complete mystery to Viktor.

But he watches, enraptured, as Yuri Katsuki bests Yuri Plisetsky at this dance-off, too, and in that moment, he decides.

Yuri Katsuki _must_ be _his_ Yuri.

* * *

Viktor is frustrated when he doesn’t hear a peep from Yuri Katsuki.

He decided to give him a week, trying to account for travel, jetlag, and family time, but when Yuri doesn’t contact him like he said he would, Viktor decides to take matters into his own hands.

He won’t be so dramatic as to say he’s _already_ in love with Yuri, but he knows he’s quite smitten, and he wants to at least get to know him more.

But when he searches for Yuri, he can’t find any information on him.

He’s not active on social media, as far as Viktor can tell; his last post is dated well before Sochi.

Viktor asks Chris if he happens to have Yuri’s number or perhaps a private social media account, but Chris says they really only chat at competitions.

Viktor is about to ask Yakov if he knows Celestino, when he realizes that this is… perhaps a bit ridiculous.

What is he doing?

Yuri had been exciting, interesting, passionate, and yes, very attractive.

But was that really enough to go on this wild goose chase trying to talk to him when Yuri himself clearly didn’t want anything to do with Viktor?

He had been drunk at the banquet; he must have been joking, and Viktor, like a fool, had taken him at his word.

He curses himself for being such an idiot, and vows to leave all this ridiculous fated pair business for later.

Now, he has to work on choreography for next year’s routines… that is, if he’s even going to compete.

He sighs. That decision should probably take precedence over chasing down Yuri Katsuki.

* * *

He doesn’t let on in front of Yakov or his rink mates just yet, but Viktor thinks he has his answer for next season, and it doesn’t include a 6th title.

* * *

Viktor is aimlessly browsing the internet in an attempt to procrastinate cooking dinner when he gets a message from Chris.

_In case you’re still wondering what Yuri Katsuki is up to... ;)_

There’s a YouTube link attached, and Viktor’s heart races as he clicks on it.

His heart seems to stop all together when the video loads, and he’s met with the image of Yuri Katsuki, in workout clothes and gloves, performing Viktor’s _Stammi Vicino_ routine.

Viktor’s breathing returns, shallow, as he watches Yuri skate.

He downgrades all of the quads except the toe loop, but the rest of it is a flawless reproduction of Viktor’s program.

Except that it’s not really a _reproduction_ : true, the steps and elements are the same order as Viktor’s, but the energy, the movement… There’s something there that is entirely Yuri Katsuki.

All of Viktor’s feelings from the banquet and the weeks thereafter come rushing back to him.

The recording ends, and he clicks replay immediately.

He needs to know more: why did Yuri learn this program? Why did he skate it now, and record it and upload it?

The account that posted it doesn’t seem to be his own, but… Viktor needs answers.

Before he can over think it, he books himself a flight.

* * *

In his mind’s eye, his arrival in Yuri’s hometown looks something like this:

He arrives at the resort Yuri had invited him to at the banquet, and Yuri is surprised but excited to see him.

He says something like, “I’m so glad you came to visit after all! I’m sorry for not contacting you all this time!”

And then Viktor will say something magnanimous like, “We’ll just have to make up for lost time!” and they’ll show each other their left wrists and confirm what Viktor has hoped is true since the banquet, and then they’ll learn everything about each other there is to know and fall in love while Viktor coaches Yuri to the top of the podium.

In reality, the only thing that happens the way he imagines it is that Yuri is most certainly surprised to see Viktor in his family’s onsen.

He doesn’t seem particularly happy about this development, if his confused cry and subsequent fleeing from the baths is anything to go by.

Viktor is more than a little discouraged that Yuri has run away from him _again._

Yuri seems to be embarrassed by everything Viktor does or says.

He won’t talk to Viktor about his personal life, and he barely talks about his skating.

Slightly exasperated, but somehow all the more intrigued, Viktor does his best to coach Yuri.

Admittedly, he doesn’t do much coaching at the beginning, because Yuri needs to get back in shape after having over-indulged and letting his workouts fall by the wayside.

Viktor likes to think that he’s a good motivator, though, and that’s an important coaching skill, right?

He continues trying to get Yuri to open up, but Yuri shuts him out at nearly every turn.

Perhaps he was being a little _much_ , especially when he suggested that they share a bed, but Yuri had been much more forward at the banquet, so Viktor is confused by how thoroughly Yuri rejects him.

He thinks he might finally be getting somewhere when Yuri Plisetsky shows up.

Viktor can’t be too mad though, as he once again finds himself in the presence of two Yuris, wondering how they all come together. They’re too interwoven for it to be chance, right?

His conviction that Katsuki is the Yuri on his left may be wavering, but Plisetsky’s consistent presence in his life makes him wonder how the teen may fit the rival role. Surely there can’t be a _third_ Yuri who will be this important in his life?

At this point, it would make more sense for Plisetsky to be Katsuki’s rival than Viktor’s own: they’ve already had two dance-offs, and now this whole Onsen on Ice event. Plus, they’ll compete in season against each other, probably.

_Could it be?_

“Yuri!” Viktor asks. Both of them look up at him. Unable to resist teasing, he chides Plisetsky, “I said Yuri, not Yurio, so clearly I’m talking to this one!”

“Fuck off, old man, it’s too early for your bullshit,” Plisetsky sulks.

“What is it, Viktor?” Katsuki asks.

“I was wondering: do you have Yurio’s name on your rival wrist?”

Both Yuris splutter.

“V-Viktor!” Katsuki says, scandalized. “You shouldn’t just… ask things like that!”

Viktor smiles in what he hopes is an innocent way. “I just think it would make a lot of sense, is all.”

Plisetsky looks nervously at Katsuki, like he’s waiting for Yuri to answer anyway.

“I…” Katsuki stalls.

Plisetsky rolls his eyes and pushes up his sleeve, exposing his right wrist. “I know you can’t read Cyrllic or whatever, but do you know how pissed I was this showed up after Sochi?”

Viktor is delighted. “Yurio! I didn’t know you got your Names already!”

Plisetsky grinds his teeth. “Just the one, so far, actually.”

“Ah, well, sometimes they’re delayed, and you’re still young!” Katsuki says, trying to diffuse the situation. “I’m sure you’ll get the left one soon too.”

“Like I care,” he snaps, clearly caring. “Anyway, let’s see it.”

He gestures at Katsuki’s wrist.

“Well, neither of you can read Japanese either, but…” he shows his right wrist, and Viktor observes clean lines: ユーリ

There’s a quiet pause while the two Russians look at the writing.

“How do you read it?” Plisetsky asks after a moment.

“This one is the _Yu_ sound, and then the line is just for the vowel length, and this one is _ri_.”

Plisetsky nods.

“What about the Russian?” Katsuki asks kindly.

Plisetsky seems pleased to be asked, and shows the four letters that make up his name. He doesn’t know how to explain the й, unsure what letter to call it. “It’s called an _i kratkaya_ , and it uh, makes a sort of … ‘yuh’ sound?”

He looks to Viktor for help, but Viktor’s not sure how to help either. “Without that letter, it’s just _i_ , but with it, it’s _i!_ ”

Yuri clearly doesn’t hear the difference. “Sorry, I don’t get it.”

“Ah well, not important I suppose. There’s no _i kratkaya_ in Yurio, after all!”

“Choke,” Plisetsky growls.

Viktor beams. “So, my Yuri and my Yurio are rivals! Good thing you didn’t retire after all. Though having your own name on your wrist must have been odd.”

“We used to tease him that he was his own worst enemy,” Mari chimes in, having walked in at some point during their conversation. “We teased him for his left wrist, too,” she grins viciously.

“Mari! Not a word!” Katsuki yelps.

“I know, I know. But it’s my job to tease you. Big sister privileges.”

Viktor wants to know more, but clearly Yuri doesn’t want him to know.

 _Does that mean he_ doesn’t _have Viktor’s name on his left?_

Viktor wonders what his name looks like in Japanese.

* * *

Onsen on Ice goes well, and Viktor is pleased to see progress in both of the rival Yuris, but Katsuki’s is more pronounced.

Plisetsky already has solid technical skills, so the progress he makes is largely presentational, which unfortunately, tends to make less of an impact.

Katsuki’s progress is a mixture of both, gained mostly by the confidence he’s finding in his own skating, bit by bit.

Viktor doesn’t fully understand how Katsuki can be this shy about his sexuality sober while he had been so provocative at the banquet in Sochi, but he’s determined to get to the bottom of things.

* * *

The season begins, a whirlwind of a thing, and Viktor is worried to rock the boat too much.

He can’t find a good time to ask Yuri if his left wrist says Viktor, and as time goes on and he realizes that he’s long past smitten, he doesn’t know if he could handle it if the answer is no.

Viktor finds what he thinks is a good approach to coaching Yuri, though not without its ups and downs.

At the Cup of China, things shift.

Viktor kisses Yuri, and he can feel his whole world shift with him as he topples onto the ice, cradling Yuri.

In Viktor’s heart, he knows—he _knows_ —this is _his_ Yuri. His soulmate, his one true love. The man the universe decided he would love more than anyone else.

He knows, but he doesn’t _know_.

He wants to see his name etched into Yuri’s skin, wants to hear it from Yuri’s mouth that Viktor is his soulmate, too.

He just doesn’t know how to do it without ruining everything.

* * *

After the drama of Rostelecom, their reunion at the airport in Fukuoka steals Viktor’s breath.

He’s so proud of Yuri for doing so well on his own, though they both know it’s far from his best. Yuri’s not at his best when he feels like he’s alone.

Sure, Yakov was there, but Yuri barely knows the man.

Viktor wanted to stay, because it pained him to know Makkachin wasn’t well, but at least she wasn’t alone. Mari was there, and Yuri’s parents, and Makkachin knows them. The family loves her, too.

But Yuri was alone, except for Yakov, who is still mad at Viktor, and who only accepted for Yuri’s sake and not because of Viktor.

Except Yuri made it very clear that Viktor had to leave, and so he did.

Their hug at the airport feels like coming home more than anything else ever has, and Viktor doesn’t know how to say what he needs to say.

“Yuri, I’ve been thinking about what I can do as your coach from now on,” he begins.

“Me, too,” Yuri says, and Viktor is suddenly afraid that they’re not going to have the same idea.

 _If we’re really Soulmates, we’ll have the same idea_ , he tells himself.

Yuri breaks out of the hug, holding Viktor by the shoulders at arms’ length.

It doesn’t feel like rejection, though, not with the intensity of Yuri’s eyes and the strength of his grip.

“Please be my coach until I retire!” Yuri exclaims, and Viktor casts asides any doubts he had about Yuri Katsuki being _his_ Yuri.

He gently takes Yuri’s left hand, the one he knows has his name written on it, and kisses his knuckles.

“It almost sounds like a marriage proposal,” Viktor says.

Yuri seems surprised by this comment, perhaps like he wasn’t expecting Viktor to understand the subtlety of the situation, or what Yuri was – hopefully—really suggesting.

Yuri blushes, a beautiful pink coloring his cheeks, and Viktor falls even more in love.

They hug again, a long embrace, and Viktor whispers in Yuri’s ear, “I wish you’d never retire.”

It’s impossible, of course; even the greatest skaters have to retire at some point.

But Viktor wants to hold onto this as long as possible.

“Let’s win gold together at the Final,” Yuri says, and Viktor can hear that he’s crying, so he just hugs him tighter.

Makkachin jumps up, wanting in on the attention, but Viktor holds Yuri as long as he’ll let him.

He never wants Yuri to retire, and he never wants to let go.

* * *

Viktor thought they were on the same page.

He really, really did.

Yuri had bought them _rings_ , they had made such beautiful promises to each other on the steps of La Sagrada Familia.

And now... he wants to end this.

Did he know, when he asked Viktor to coach him until he retired, that it would be this soon?

Was this some sort of test?

A crueler, more hurtful voice asks if this is the right Yuri after all, or if Viktor has been projecting this whole time.

It hurts, and Viktor cries for the first time since he was a child.

Yuri, a master of the waterworks, seems surprised at Viktor’s tears.

Viktor thinks this cruel, too, and for the first time in years, he wonders if maybe there really only is one Yuri on his wrists: destined to be the one person whom Viktor loves more than anything, but also the one to break his heart.

All he can do is buy time, though. He loves Yuri too much to ruin everything the night before the Free Skate of the Grand Prix Final.

Even if this is their last weekend together, Viktor can’t bear to see Yuri lose again. He loves him, God does he love this man, and even as his own heart is breaking, he fights to be whatever Yuri needs him to be so that Yuri can succeed.

He’ll give him everything, and then they’ll see where they stand.

After the Final, Viktor will show Yuri his left wrist, and he’ll pray that Yuri’s left shows his.

And if not…

Viktor doesn’t let himself think of what will happen if not.

* * *

0.12 points.

Viktor can only imagine how bitter that must feel: breaking a world record, and then losing to a debut skater.

Though, it _is_ Yuri’s fated rival he loses to, so perhaps it’s fitting after all.

Yuri will beat him next ti—

Yuri wants to retire.

Viktor doesn’t know how to handle this.

After the medal ceremony, Yuri offers him his silver medal to kiss.

“I really wanted to kiss the gold,” Viktor says. _Stay another year. Stay_ with me _another year._

“I’m sorry,” Yuri says.

For all the times Yuri apologizes, this one sounds the most sincere. Not just a reflex, but a true regret.

In the end, it’s Yuri who closes the gap.

He hugs Viktor close, and tells him in a steady, sure voice: “Stay with me in competition one more year! This time, I’ll win gold for sure!”

He looks so determined, so strong, and Viktor is filled with a surge of pride in how far Yuri has come.

His heart feels full, and he knows, he knows, he knows.

“In exchange, I’ll need you to become a five-time champion, at least,” Viktor says, because it’s the only thing he can think of to make sure that Yuri knows, too.

Viktor reaches out to cradle Yuri’s face, ready to brush away the tears that are falling over his cheeks.

Yuri holds Viktor’s hand—his left—and slowly, so that Viktor knows exactly what he’s going to do, and he could stop Yuri if he wanted, but he really, really doesn’t.

He lets Yuri pull back his sleeve and trace the letters one by one.

“I knew it,” Yuri whispers. “Or—I hoped.” He shakes his head. “No, I think I knew. I knew all along, but I was… afraid.”

“Can I see your wrist?” Viktor asks at last. He has to see it, to make sure this isn’t a dream.

Yuri slides his costume sleeve up, revealing the katakana of Viktor’s name: ヴィクトル.

Yuri shows him each kana, sounding out his name.

“It’s perfect,” Viktor whispers. “I… how long have you known?”

“Probably since I made my Senior debut,” Yuri smiles, a bit sadly. “You already know you were my skating idol, but when I made it to the Seniors, I thought… I thought I was so much closer to skating on the same ice as you, that it had to be you. How many people was I going to meet named Viktor?”

“Yuri is a pretty common Slavic name,” Viktor complains. “And I have two of them.”

“Huh?”

Viktor shows his other wrist. “I used to wonder if you were two different Yuris or the same person, meant to be my rival and my lover at the same time…”

“Well if you’re coming back to competition, that’s true enough,” Yuri smiles. “Though Yurio is considerable competition, too.”

“It was hard to see him becoming my rival when I met him as an eight-year-old, but I think it’s better than the alternative.”

“I want your eyes only on me,” Yuri says seriously. “I’ll be your lover and your rival, so don’t take your eyes off of me.”

“Never,” Viktor agrees.


	2. Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katsuki Yuuri discovers makeup when he’s fourteen and a half years old.  
> Rather than putting it on his face, though, he uses it to cover the Name that appeared on his wrist far too early.  
> No one needs to know that he’s already got a Name, and definitely no one needs to know that that name is ヴィクトル.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!! Katsuki Yuuri's POV. 
> 
> I moved via the bus today and let me tell you... bad choices. To cope, I wrote this 6.7k fic x)

Katsuki Yuuri discovers makeup when he’s fourteen and a half years old.

Rather than putting it on his face, though, he uses it to cover the Name that appeared on his wrist _far_ too early.

He’s not even fifteen, and yet his left wrist now prominently announces his romantic soulmate for the world to see.

And well, Yuuri’s not ready for that.

So he goes to the makeup section of a department store and stares at swatches with intense confusion before choosing the palest shade—it’s the underside of his wrist, after all—and then he adds a few random purchases as well, as though the presence of a necktie he’ll never wear and an 8 pack of white tube socks will somehow disguise the fact that he’s buying makeup.

The cashier, a bored looking college student, scans the items with no comments, no lingering glances at his items, and tells him the total.

Yuuri pays as quickly as he can and dashes out of the store, purchases in a paper sack.

The concealer is actually _too_ pale for him, but he figures it’s fine for now, and when he runs out, he can buy the next darker shade.

He adds a bulky wristwatch to his daily outfit, and wears gloves at the rink.

No one needs to know that he’s already got a Name, and _definitely_ no one needs to know that that name is ヴィクトル.

* * *

Mari finds out, of course, because she notices the white patch on his wrist.

She nods at it. “What’cha got there?”

“N-nothing!”

“Mhmm, real convincing, little bro. You wanna try that again?”

“My Name came in,” he whispers, embarrassed.

“Obviously. Why are you covering it?”

“Aren’t I kind of young to already have a Love Name?”

Mari shrugs. “Everyone’s different. All depends on circumstances and such. Do you know who it is?”

Yuuri knows who he _wants_ it to be, but he doesn’t dare voice that. “It’s foreign,” is all he says.

“It’s not that guy all over your walls, is it?” she teases.

Yuuri _should_ groan, and get embarrassed, and then insist that no, of course it’s not.

Except… it could be.

And he blushes and splutters so magnificently that Mari can’t help but laugh her ass off at him.

“Dreams really do come true!” she shrieks with laughter, and Yuuri wants nothing more than to disappear.

* * *

By the time Yuuri makes his Senior debut, he’s about to turn 18, and it’s finally, finally possible for him to imagine really skating on the same ice as his idol.

(Yuuri categorically refuses to think of Viktor as his soulmate, because it seems very presumptuous to consider a famous and vastly more talented skater whom he’s never met before his _soulmate_. He knows how unlikely it is that the katakana on his wrist refer to some other Viktor, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up any more than he already has.)

He’s not at the big competitions just yet—the Grand Prix series feels like an impossible goal—but he’s at least on the same circuit.

He has a _chance_ , and maybe, that’s all he needs.

* * *

Times goes slowly in Detroit.

He likes working with Celestino, and he gets along great with Phichit. He tries to keep his expectations low as he adjusts to life in a new country, a new coach, a new _everything_.

But progress is slow, and his confidence flags, and sometimes everything seems so daunting that he wonders how he ever thought he had a chance.

By the time he’s 20, Yuuri thinks it’s infinitely more likely that he’ll meet Viktor off the ice at a fan event before he could ever hope to skate well enough to catch Viktor’s attention _on_ the ice.

He’s in Finland at a Challenger series competition, and he just finished his short program, lamenting the bruise that is surely already developing from when he failed to land his quad salchow _again_.

In the Kiss and Cry, Celestino sits next to him with a firm arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, telling him in that Celestino-way how proud he is of Yuuri, and to not worry too much about the fall—he got the rotations in this time, at least!

He puts his hands together as though in prayer, hoping that he didn’t just ruin his shot at the podium, and then he notices it.

There, peaking out of his right costume sleeve, is black print that wasn’t there before his Short Program.

Yuuri gasps, all too aware of the cameras on him and Celestino next to him, and shoves his sleeve down as quickly as possible, not wanting to read the name in the public eye like this.

Yuuri has always assumed that his fated rival would be another skater; he’s a professional competitor, it’s a logical conclusion.

He’s never really considered himself very strong competition, despite his desire to win and how competitive he is, so he’s not really surprised it’s taken this long for someone to take notice.

But that Short Program that he just did must have caught his rival’s eye.

He receives his scores, and he’s in third for the SP, with just one more skater to go.

Yuuri feels exhilarated—he has a _rival_ now!—and now more than ever, he craves a podium spot to show whoever it is that he’s worthy of a fated rivalry.

Later, in the privacy of his hotel room bathroom, Yuuri allows himself to look at the name.

He wonders if it was a competitor at this competition, or perhaps the competition was televised live somewhere?

He pulls back his sleeve, eyes scrunched shut, suddenly afraid.

Does he want to know?

Of course he does, and yet it’s slightly terrifying. Should he wait until after the competition? What if it _is_ a fellow competitor?

Should he ask Celestino to check it for him, and make sure that it’s no one he could run into tomorrow?

Yuuri sighs. He doesn’t really want Celestino to know the Name on his wrist—he doesn’t even know Yuuri already has one on his left—so he decides the only solution is to look for himself.

If it’s someone at the competition, and they look at their wrist, they might decide to confront Yuuri. Best to be prepared, right?

With a quiet shout for courage, he opens his eyes.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised it’s not in kanji, either. Skating is a very international community, so the odds of it being a fellow Japanese skater are… low, he supposes.

What he is surprised by is that the katakana on his wrist spell his own name, and he has no idea what that means.

Can you be your own rival? He wonders briefly, but then shakes his head. Even if it were possible, Yuuri’s own name would be written in kanji, not katakana. So this must be some sort of… foreign Yuuri, then.

He’s the only Yuuri at this competition, at least, so the free skate will hopefully be conflict free.

He tries to focus on the fact that he needs to impress his rival now, that he has to work harder to keep their interest and be worthy of their rivalry.

His Free Skate goes well, and he keeps his third place all the way to the podium.

He can do better.

He _will_ do better.

He has a rival to impress.

* * *

He wants to tell _someone_ that he has a rival now, because as early as he got his left Name, he was starting to wonder if he would just never have one on the right, though he’s never met anyone who doesn’t. Even if the rivalry is less intense than one international ice, everyone has _someone_ that they butt heads with, that they strongly dislike, that they’re extra competitive against… And now Yuuri finally, finally has one.

He tells Phichit, of course, who is excited for him, if jealous. At 17, Phichit’s still waiting on both of his names, and he and Yuuri had, in part, bonded over bare wrists.

(Yuuri had belatedly admitted to covering the left but refused to share the name. It would be far too obvious to Phichit exactly who Yuuri hoped his Viktor was.)

And for some reason, on his next call home, he tells his family too. He tells them that he’s excited for a rival, that it will help him skate better so they can all be proud of him.

His parents give their standard answer that they’re already proud of him, but Mari cuts right to the point.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says honestly. “Though… it’s kind of funny. It’s in katakana, too, but it says Yuuri.”

Mari barks out a sharp laugh. “Congrats, little bro, you’re your own enemy!”

Their parents scold Mari for being mean-spirited, and Yuuri rushes to defend himself.

“If it were me, it would be in kanji!”

“Do you still know the kanji for your own name, though? You’ve been in America forever,” she says, and Yuuri sighs.

“Can’t you just be happy for me for once, Mari?”

“I’m sorry, Yuuri, you know I’m just teasing.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Hey, kick other-Yuuri’s ass, alright? You’re the best Yuuri on the ice, alright?”

Yuuri smiles softly. “Well for now I’m the only Yuuri on the Seniors, as far as I know, so I may be the _only_ Yuuri on ice.”

“See? Already the best, then.”

* * *

When a fiery young skater known as the “Russian Punk” explodes through the Juniors ranks, Yuuri’s breath catches just a moment.

His name is Yuri, and he’s definitely not Japanese.

It’s hard to tell, since he’s eight years younger than Yuuri himself, but Yuuri won’t be surprised if this kid enters the Seniors as soon as he’s age eligible.

He’s a little bit terrifying, though, so Yuuri almost hopes that his fated rival is somehow some other Yuri.

He applies the concealer to his right wrist a little heavier than is really needed.

* * *

After over four years in Detroit, Yuuri has climbed his national ranks and is among the top ranked skaters in Japan. He qualifies for the Grand Prix series, and everything feels like it’s going his way.

When he qualifies for the Grand Prix _Final_ , Yuuri can scarcely believe it. Finally, _finally_ , he will skate on the same ice as his idol, as the man whom he’s looked up to for most of his life. He hadn’t been assigned the same competitions as Viktor before the Final, but he thinks that meeting at the final is somehow more poetic.

He briefly allows himself to imagine medaling alongside Viktor, that it’s his bronze, or dare he dream silver medal that catches Viktor’s eye and starts a conversation, before trying to bring himself back down to earth.

He’s not going to medal; he’s not talented enough. All he has to do is not mess up too horribly, and he can finally meet Viktor, and maybe he can figure out if Viktor’s wrist bears his name, too.

* * *

Yuuri implodes spectacularly at Sochi, and it all culminates in crying in a bathroom stall as the pathetic cap to this horrific weekend.

All he had to do was not completely fail, and then that’s exactly what he did.

And to rub salt in the wound, his dog is dead, and he let down his whole family, and he’s an absolute embarrassment to Celestino, to all of Japan.

Yuuri barely makes it through his teary-eyed phone call home and thinks that maybe he’ll just live in this bathroom stall forever, because showing his face in public again is definitely not an option anymore.

He rubs at the makeup on his wrists, and stares at the writing pitifully.

He was over a hundred points behind Viktor. To be fair, even the silver medalist was over thirty points behind—that’s just how amazing Viktor is—but over a hundred? That’s even more pathetic than Yuuri had predicted even in his more pessimistic estimations.

His self-deprecation is violently interrupted seconds later when a loud _thud_ lands on the door to the stall Yuuri is in.

His first reaction is to apologize—because _of course_ it is, he berates himself—and then he pulls his sleeves back over his wrists. Stupid, removing the makeup, he thinks bitterly.

He isn’t sure what prompts him to open the stall door after someone presumably kicked at it. Maybe it’s some sort of death wish.

But open it he does, and there on the other side is none other than Yuri Plisetsky.

Oh, this would be a really bad time to discover that he really _is_ Yuuri’s fated rival.

Yuuri barely processes what the Russian kid yells at him: he’s upset, and parsing heavily-accented yelling in English is just not working out for him.

What he does pick up on is that Yuri doesn’t like him at all and thinks he should retire after that incredibly lackluster performance.

Yuuri can’t say he disagrees with the logic.

The thought of retiring sends a pain through his chest, because Yuuri isn’t ready to give up completely.

Maybe it’s selfish of him, to ask his coach to keep putting in time and effort to coaching Yuuri when he’s clearly a lost cause, but … retiring? He doesn’t know if he can stomach that.

After Yuri Plisetsky leaves the bathroom, Yuuri rinses his face with cool water in the sink, trying to reduce the red puffiness of his eyes before he has to face Celestino again.

He reapplies the concealer to his wrists, thankful that he keeps a bottle in his skate bag just in case he sweats it off too much or something. _Or something_.

He leaves the bathroom, eventually, Yuri Plisetsky’s words echoing in his mind.

Outside the bathroom, Yuuri re-enters the buzz of excitement throughout the arena: fans and skaters alike excitedly discussing their favorite programs.

Amid the noise, one voice cuts through: “Yuuri,” it begins, and Yuuri looks up expectedly to see who’s talking to him now, but what follows is in a language he doesn’t speak.

Russian.

That’s Vitkor Nikiforov, talking to Yuri Plisetsky.

 _Could today get any worse?_ Yuuri laments, and hopes Celestino will excuse him for sprinting from the arena.

Except that Yuuri should really know better by now than to tempt the fates: the answer to “could today get any worse” falls directly into his lap when Viktor looks at him with a pleasant smile on that heart-shaped mouth and says, “Commemorative photo?”

Yuuri runs.

* * *

There is not enough alcohol in the world to drown out the shame Yuuri feels at being forced to attend the banquet, but Yuuri is going to make an attempt, nonetheless.

The champagne bites at his tongue but it doesn’t burn like sake or hard liquor does, so he really doesn’t mind too much, and with each passing glass, it doesn’t even bite his tongue anymore.

* * *

Yuuri wakes the next morning with a million regrets, and impressively, only half are about his skating from yesterday.

Celestino laughs at him, tosses him a water bottle, rustles up some pain killers. “You can sleep it off on the plane,” his coach grins. “Come on, I’ll treat you to breakfast, and then we’ll head to the airport.”

Yuuri isn’t convinced that eating is going to go well, but he doesn’t dare protest.

He’s already put his coach through hell; he may as well do as he’s told.

They cross paths with Christophe Giacometti on their way to breakfast.

Yuuri has spoken with Chris at competitions before, so he offers a good morning and a congratulations.

“ _Omedetou_ to you, as well. Last is a bummer, but think of it this way: no where to go but up!” Chris grins. “Though sometimes going _down_ can be just as fun,” he adds with a wink.

Yuuri has _no_ idea what’s happening, or what that wink could possibly have meant. He thinks he mutters something like a thank you and a “I have to go” before speed-walking to catch up with Celestino.

“Add me on Instagram!” Chris calls after him.

Yuuri barely uses that app, and he fears what kind of images he would find on Chris’s account anyway, so he just walks faster.

“Alright?” Celestino asks, probably because Yuuri looks like he’s just been traumatized all over again, and Yuuri just shrugs.

Celestino tries to make conversation, but Yuuri makes it clear that he won’t be discussing his skating right now.

He’s still processing, and Celestino knows Yuuri well enough to let it drop.

Instead, he lets them eat in near silence, and they return to the hotel, pack their bags, and fly back to Detroit.

* * *

Making the split from Celestino is both easier and harder than Yuuri thinks it will be.

It’s easy, because Yuuri truly believes this is the best choice for everyone, and he knows that nothing Celestino can say will change his mind.

It’s hard because it means leaving behind the life he’s built here over the past five years. It means leaving Phichit, and their other rinkmates, with whom Yuuri isn’t particularly close but they’re still familiar and known.

It’s easy, because after the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri needs a change. He’s losing his love for the ice, losing his motivation, and he knows he’s no use to anyone when he’s like this.

It’s easy because he hasn’t seen his family for five years except through video chat, and he feels like a bad son.

Really, it’s easy.

But the pain in his chest as he hugs Phichit goodbye one last time makes it harder than he could have ever imagined.

* * *

Yuuri feels heavy when he returns to Hasetsu, and it’s not just the extra weight he’s put on.

It’s reassuring, in one way, how nothing has really changed in his absence, but he feels too big for his skin here.

It’s good to see his family, and he visits Vicchan.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Not just here in Hasetsu, but in general. If he doesn’t skate, what is going to do? He’s got a college degree, sure, but won’t he just stay at the onsen with his family?

Maybe Minako needs help in her studio, or the Nishigoris may want someone around at the rink. He could probably teach local kids to skate, he supposes, but…

It’s ridiculous, really, that Yuuri is still considering his Names in all of this mess.

He’s stopped wearing concealer on his wrists, because what has he got to lose at this point? No one in Hasetsu besides Yuuko follows skating enough to connect the dots, certainly not to Yuri Plisetsky, if that is in fact the Yuri on his wrist. It’s cool enough that he can just wear long sleeves or his skating gloves in front of Yuuko, though, and he knows that a bare wrist will attract more attention than katakana.

Yuuri’s lived abroad, anyway, it’s not a stretch to imagine his Names aren’t Japanese.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about his Names right now: he should be focusing on himself, on digging himself out of this mess, finding his path forward, his place in life, which last season pretty definitively showed him is _not_ on the ice.

Except he still _wants_ it to be.

If Yuuri stays in Hasetsu, he’s never going to see Viktor Nikiforov again, never going to redeem himself to his soulmate.

He laughs humorlessly. _Viktor Nikiforov is_ not _your soulmate_.

What a delusion of grandeur he had fabricated for himself, he thinks pitifully.

Perhaps working at the onsen they’ll have a tourist named Viktor who is Yuuri’s _real_ soulmate.

And as for his rival… maybe that incident in the Sochi bathroom was their great rivalry, fizzled out before it could truly begin.

There.

Problem solved.

Yuuri doesn’t want that to be the truth, doesn’t want it to be problem solved. But he can’t think clearly about his own skating—he never has, really. Celestino always focused on positive reinforcement, which made Yuuri feel like Celestino just didn’t want to tell him the bad parts.

Yuuri knows what he _wants_ to do, but he’s not sure if he can or, more importantly, if he should.

He needs to think things over, clear his head, and he can’t do that at the onsen.

So he offers a quiet goodbye to the inn, and heads down to the Ice Castle.

Skating his own programs would just be depressing at this point, and he doesn’t have any inspiration to choreograph something new.

He warms up slowly, uneasy with how the extra weight is affecting his body but there’s nothing he can do about that right now.

Right now, he just needs to be on the ice.

An idea strikes him, and he decides that he doesn’t want to be alone for this.

He brings Yuuko over to the boards, folds his glasses and takes his position.

He knows Viktor’s routine so well that he can hear the music without having to play it.

Yuuko must know it well too, because she gasps shortly after he begins.

Yuuri doesn’t know if she continues to react to his skating or if she watches quietly: she could be screaming and yelling at him, and he wouldn’t hear her. All he can hear is _Stammi Vicino_ , a silent plea to the universe to not take this from him, that he needs skating, that he doesn’t know what do without skating.

He doesn’t know where to begin to look for a new coach, if he were to return to competitions. He’d need someone firm, stricter than Celestino, but who won’t just yell at him and destroy whatever motivation Yuuri has left.

No, he’s here to clear his mind. He downgrades a quad to a triple, because he doesn’t need to fall, he needs to feel _good_ about his skating again.

The program winds down, and Yuuri’s out of shape body is protesting more than it should be from a program like this, downgraded as it is.

He strikes the final pose, breathing harder than he’d like, but he feels a wave of calm wash over him.

There it is: that feeling that he belongs here, that the ice is his calling, that he can make it work.

Yuuko explodes with cheers and clapping, and for once, Yuuri doesn’t feel embarrassed by his skating.

He came here to remind himself of his love for the ice, and that he can find a way back to it.

He doesn’t know how, but he will.

* * *

It turns out that Yuuri doesn’t need to find his own way back to skating, because Viktor Nikiforov is going to drop it right in his lap.

Yuuri is still embarrassed that Viktor saw that damn video, that he came all the way to Japan for Yuuri—to _coach_ Yuuri? But Yuuri is doing his best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Viktor is exuberant and a little intrusive—no, Yuuri will _not_ be sharing a bed with Viktor, thanks—but there’s something electrifying about being around him.

Viktor talks to him like they’re equals, and Yuuri tries to quash down the voice that tells him they’ll never be equals.

He devises a nearly diabolical workout plan to get Yuuri back into shape, and he somehow strikes the balance between harsh reality and an absolute conviction that Yuuri will succeed.

When he all but collapses on the steps of the Ice Castle, Yuuri barely recognizes that there’s a crowd gathered.

Yuri Plisetsky has arrived, and that tenuous harmony he and Viktor were working towards goes up in a puff of smoke.

* * *

In all honesty, Yuuri feels more than a little ridiculous the first few times he tries to skate Eros.

Not only has he never really gone the seductive route with his skating, but he has to do it in front of his probable romantic soulmate _and_ his rival, who, while frighteningly talented, is only a child.

He supposes it’s better that he’s the one trying to be seductive and not the fresh faced fifteen-year-old, but it’s uncomfortable.

But he’s determined and he wants so badly for Viktor to stay, to be proud of him, to coach him, to stay with him.

He just wants to be with Viktor, in any way he can.

* * *

When they confirm that Yuri and Yuuri are in fact, fated rivals, the relief that sweeps through Yuuri is unexpectedly pleasant.

He itches to show his left wrist, just to have it all in the open, but when Mari comes in, he loses his nerve.

Her bad joke about Yuuri being his own enemy wasn’t funny then, and it isn’t funny now.

And mentioning, even vaguely, his other Name is _not her place_ and he doesn’t want her to be there when he tells Viktor.

Maybe Yuri Plisetsky shouldn’t be there, either, maybe it’s a private thing, but he decides that he’ll keep it hidden a while longer.

At least until after this whole Onsen on Ice thing is over.

* * *

Yuuri couldn’t have asked for a better rival.

Yuri Plisetsky is terrifyingly talented, and while he’s foul-mouthed and short-tempered, Yuuri thinks theirs will be a friendly, albeit highly competitive, rivalry.

Yuuri still isn’t sure what his eros is, and the whole katsudon story is a good distraction, but he’s not sure how it will—or can—evolve over the season.

He wins the competition, though, and it feels good not only to know that Viktor will stay with him, at least for a little while, but that he’s beat his fated rival already.

Of course, their next meeting will be all the more intense for it, but Yuuri finds himself truly looking forward to it.

Viktor’s coaching style is strict and not strong on explanations—he prefers to show rather than tell, or perhaps it’s that he’s not sure _how_ to tell. Yuuri decides it doesn’t matter: if Viktor wants to communicate visually, then that’s how Yuuri will learn from him, because he can’t waste a single second of their time together.

What Viktor lacks in vocabulary he makes up for in passion tenfold. Yuuri has been surrounded by skating professionals for years, but few have the sheer energy and external desire that Viktor does to be in this world.

Yuuri drinks it up, and finds himself becoming more and more consumed both by skating and by Viktor.

He knows, he _knows_ it’s Viktor on his wrist. His adolescent crush can barely hold a candle to what he feels for Viktor now that he actually knows him.

Sure, Yuuri fell in love with his skating and his beautiful face, but now that he actually knows him? Viktor is breathtaking. His knowledge of skating is extensive, he’s open to new experiences both on and off the ice, and he is unabashedly himself. Yuuri doesn’t think Viktor has ever been embarrassed by anything in his life, and it makes Yuuri want to be the same.

But most importantly, Viktor is patient with Yuuri.

He lets Yuuri come to him, and the converge somewhere in the middle and find a way to make it work.

When they go to the Cup of China, Yuuri feels like maybe this is the push that he’s always needed, that Celestino couldn’t give him.

He knows that from a traditional point of view, Viktor isn’t a great coach. But he’s the perfect coach _for Yuuri_ , and that’s all that he needs.

When Viktor kisses him on the ice, Yuuri lets himself imagine what it might be like, if he and Viktor really _are_ soulmates.

He’s imagined it a thousand times, but it’s never been concrete, always some whimsical far-away fantasy.

But now, he knows what Viktor’s lips feel like on his own.

He knows what the weight of Viktor’s body pressed against his feels like.

He knows, and he wants more.

But he can’t believe that this is really what Viktor wants—the kiss was a surprise, he just wanted to be surprising, as always—and so he tries to curb his fantasy.

He doesn’t want to risk being wrong about the Name, so until he sees his own name on Viktor’s wrist, he’ll focus on his skating.

After all, if Yuuri wins gold, then Viktor will stay, and they’ll have more time to figure out how they fit.

* * *

Rostelecom throws a wrench in things.

Yuuri refuses to let Viktor go through what he went through during the Final last year, so he makes Viktor go back to Japan to be with his dog.

Yakov doesn’t speak much to him, but that may be his discomfort in English more than his disdain for Yuuri.

He seems angry with Viktor, but he’s polite to Yuuri, and they don’t talk about Viktor.

The Free Skate passes in a near blur. He just wants Viktor to be here, and he hates that he skates better when Viktor is there. Clearly, he’s capable of better, but without those ridiculous pep talks and the sensual way Viktor touches him before he skates, he just can’t quite figure out how to get there on his own.

Again, he’s reminded of how unorthodox a coach Viktor is, and that his coaching style probably wouldn’t work on someone else.

A sharp pang of jealousy lances through Yuuri at the thought of Viktor coaching someone else _like this_ , with the touches and the suggestive remarks.

The jealousy turns to fear when he wonders if it’s an act. Yuuri’s admiration and love for Viktor must be so transparent that Viktor is just playing him like a fiddle.

It hurts, but it does seem… plausible.

No, he tells himself: Viktor wears his heart on his sleeve. This isn’t an act.

But he might grow tired of Yuuri, if Yuuri doesn’t win. He needs to do something to show Viktor his conviction, his dedication… his love.

At the airport, Yuuri can’t help but break into a run when he sees Viktor.

He bounces impatiently at the automatic door, and then when he’s finally free, he throws himself at Viktor.

They just hold each other for a few minutes, and Viktor smells like home and a hint of Hasetsu clinging to his clothes (his mother’s laundry detergent, probably).

“Yuuri, I’ve been thinking about what I can do as your coach from now on,” Viktor says, and Yuuri realizes that he needs to be the one to talk first. He doesn’t know what Viktor is about to say, can only fear that he wants to leave.

“Me too,” Yuuri says, before Viktor can formulate the rest of his thought.

Viktor always loves when Yuuri is assertive, so Yuuri squares his shoulders, grips Viktor and makes intent eye contact.

“Please be my coach until I retire!” He doesn’t let his voice waver.

Viktor looks… happy. Was he expecting this? Was he perhaps hoping for the same?

He takes Yuuri’s left hand, and for a moment Yuuri thinks Viktor is going to read his Name, just inches from his lips.

Instead, Viktor kisses his knuckles softly, lingering just slightly.

“It almost sounds like a marriage proposal,” Viktor says, and Yuuri can’t believe Viktor would make such a statement when their whole relationship has always seemed so fleeting and impermanent.

If that’s how Viktor wants to see things though—long term commitment, if only professionally, for the moment—then Yuuri won’t complain.

“Let’s win gold together at the Final,” Yuuri says, and he’s crying again, but this time it’s with happiness and relief, so he lets the tears soak into Viktor’s coat.

* * *

The rings were an impulse purchase, at a price tag really not meant for impulse buying.

He chooses his words carefully when he slips the ring onto Viktor’s finger, and Viktor seems to be attentive to what he says as well, as beautiful as it is.

Yuuri alternates viciously between loving the rings and regretting them deeply.

On the one hand, it binds him to Viktor just a little more.

On the other hand, they aren’t actually _together_ , not really, not how Yuuri wants them to be. Even optimistically, if they both want the same thing, they need to at least _talk_ about it.

His inner turmoil over the rings is put on hold for a moment at dinner, though, when the events of Sochi’s Banquet are brought to light.

 _That was Viktor’s first impression of me,_ Yuuri panics. _He thought I was a ridiculous flirt, of course that’s why he gave me Eros!_

In fact, quite a few things in Viktor’s early days in Hasetsu begin to make a lot more sense: what’s sharing a bed when you’ve already pole-danced half naked in front of him?

The photos are damning, and Yuuri would not be sad if the earth opened up and swallowed him whole.

And then Chris notices the rings, and all hell breaks loose.

Yuuri is somehow even more mortified by the rings than his pole-dancing antics, but Viktor plays along good-naturedly as he always does.

“They’re a pair!” he says, broad smiles all around.

Phichit jumps to the logical but false conclusion that Yuuri has managed to _elope_ with Viktor without anyone knowing about it. Yuuri is a bit suspicious that Phichit thinks him capable of not only being in a relationship with Viktor and not telling his good friend about it, but that he would just _get married_?

Vaguely, Yuuri wonders if this means that Phichit thinks they’re soulmates, but that train of thought is derailed when Viktor stirs the pot even further.

“We’re just engaged,” he says simply, and Yuuri doesn’t think Viktor is normally this good of an actor. “We’ll get married after Yuuri wins the gold.”

The mention of the medal brings the focus back to the competition, and not on the fact that Yuuri stupidly thought he could buy _matching gold rings_ and call it a good luck charm.

Yuuri has never been so grateful for JJ’s presence in his life.

* * *

The short program goes … alright. He can do better, he can.

He has.

But things between him and Viktor are strange, with this whole ring thing, and the declarations at dinner that Yuuri can’t figure out.

When Yuuri sees Viktor watching Yuri’s performance, though, reality hits him like a ton of bricks.

Coaching Yuuri was never meant to be a long-term gig for Viktor.

He was lacking inspiration, and Yuuri and Yuri’s rivalry has reawakened the competitive spirit in Viktor.

Yuuri doesn’t know who Viktor’s Rival Name is, but it hardly matters. Viktor deserves to compete again. He’s more than capable of a comeback, despite his age, though not for much longer, and Yuuri will not be selfish another year.

Viktor has given Yuuri more than enough: confidence, strength, courage, and the chance to truly compete against his rival on one of the biggest stages in figure skating.

And above all, he’s given Yuuri the identities of his two Names.

It’s the least Yuuri can do, really, to end things.

It’s what’s best for Viktor.

* * *

Viktor doesn’t seem to agree with Yuuri’s plan.

In fact, he’s crying, which Yuuri has never seen and it has him at an utter loss.

For once, Yuuri finds himself dry-eyed, and he wonders if crying might actually make this conversation go better.

Yuuri doesn’t understand, because Viktor clearly wants to compete again, yet he wants to compete… against Yuuri?

Except that would be impossible, since Yuuri won’t have a coach.

Sure, he’s made another appearance at the GPF, and knock on wood, he hasn’t flubbed it all yet.

But who would want to take on a 24 going on 25-year-old skater who’s never won a major event?

No, Yuuri will retire so that Viktor can come back.

It’s what’s best.

They agree to focus on the Free Skate, and they’ll talk after the results are in.

Yuuri knows that nothing short of gold will give him any hope of another season, but if it’s what Viktor wants, then Yuuri will do everything in his power to get it for him.

* * *

_Damn_ that little brat! Yuuri thinks bitterly, though at the same time he's thoroughly impressed and genuinely happy for Yurio. All those ridiculous jumps with his arms up, and in his Senior debut! 

Silver feels amazing, of course, compared to last year’s absolute failure, but silver tastes even more bitter for being _so close_ to what he wanted and yet still not enough.

Add in the fact that it’s Yuuri’s fated rival and the loss feels double.

Except…

Something has shifted.

When he sees Viktor after the podium, he apologizes for failing Viktor, for letting him down.

Viktor plays along, teasing that he wanted to kiss the gold, but Yuuri thinks he only says it to maintain their running joke.

Bitterly, he thinks, _guess we can call the wedding off, eh?_ Except there never was a wedding.

And there won’t be, if Yuuri never finds out if they’re even soulmates or not.

But soulmates or not, he wants more than this season.

Sure, he told Viktor last night that he would retire, but is that really it? He’s going to just roll over and let his fated rival take gold _again_?

He came too close to tasting victory, and now he’s desperate for it.

“Stay with me in competition one more year!” he cries to Viktor, holding him tightly. “This time, I’ll win gold for sure!”

He hopes Viktor hears it both as a promise to return, and a challenge: they’ll be rivals, too, in a sense, if they both compete.

Yuuri wants to win because he’s competitive, but also because he wants to hold Viktor’s attention, and to challenge his rival, and because, ultimately, this is the life he’s always dreamed of.

To share the ice with Viktor Nikiforov, to be his equal, and to win as many times as he can.

Viktor’s eyes grow big and a little misty and he exclaims in happiness. “Good, but keep going!”

Viktor asks him to be a five-time champion “at least”, and Yuuri can’t help but think that _that_ sounds like a marriage proposal, too.

He has to know. Nothing will change, he tells himself: his relationship with Viktor is invaluable, soulmates or no.

But he has to know.

So slowly, deliberately, he pulls back Viktor’s sleeve and reads the name there.

Юрий.

Yuuri traces the letters carefully, remembering what they looked like on Yuri Plisetsky’s right wrist.

“I knew it,” Yuuri whispers, afraid to speak louder, wanting to just live in their little world of two for a while longer. “Or—I hoped. No, I think I knew. I knew all along, but I was…afraid.”

He didn’t want to risk being wrong, and so he waited in uncertainty for far longer than either of them should have.

They both should have settled this months ago. _How much confusion could we have avoided?_ Yuuri wonders. Then: _does that mean Viktor things these really are engagement rings?_

Before he can panic any further, though, Viktor breaks through his thoughts. “Can I see your wrist?”

Obligingly, Yuuri pulls back his sleeve to show off Viktor’s name.

“The sound _vi_ is a little tricky in Japanese,” he says quietly, showing the kana and the diacritic marker. “But _to_ and _ru_ are easy enough, though your name doesn’t really have a _u…_ ”

Yuuri isn’t sure Viktor’s really listening, but he supposes he can answer questions later as needed.

When he finds out that _both_ of Viktor’s Names are Юрий, he thinks it’s only fitting.

Though if Viktor thinks that Yuuri isn’t a fierce competitor, he’s got another thing coming.

“I want your eyes only on me,” Yuri says, in a tone he hopes brooks no argument. “I’ll be your lover and your rival, so don’t take your eyes off of me.”

“Never,” Viktor agrees.

* * *

The exhibition skate was Yuuri’s idea.

They had bonded over the _Stammi Vicino_ routine countless times, and choreographing it into a duet had been a natural evolution.

Doing it at the Grand Prix Exhibition, however, felt like a declaration of love to the world.

Love of skating, perhaps, yes, but more importantly, just how close the two of them had become.

Yuuri would love to think that the skating world has no idea what they’re in for next season, but when Viktor kisses him on the ice _again_ , this time plain and open and for all to see (from multiple camera angles)…

Well, he thinks they have a pretty good idea, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed this now says it will be 3 chapters, bc I'm gonna add Yuri P's pov next!  
> no idea on eta, so please be patient because i really should be writing my thesis instead of fanfic oops
> 
> comments are wonderful, and as always come find me on tumblr as ricekrispyjoints  
> Thanks for reading !!


	3. Yuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s always thought a rival was someone you were supposed to hate, your enemy, but that’s not who Katsuki is for him.  
> They’re competitors, yes, but he doesn’t hate Katsuki.  
> Hell, he even kind of admires him, though he wouldn’t admit that aloud over his dead fucking body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AND WELCOME ~~to the madness~~ to the final installment (i think)  
> that's right, it's yurio's pov and i had fun bc i love this little tiger and i want to see him grow up big and stronk
> 
> anyway this was only very hastily edited so sorry if it's slightly a mess, i'll try to tidy up when i can :') but for now please enjoy

Yuri Plisetsky is _furious_.

Well, as furious as a twelve-year-old can be. (In Yuri’s case, that’s pretty damn furious.)

But it’s a strange kind of furious, because it’s an excited kind of fury, boiling hot and low under his skin. 

He’s in Finland at a Challenger series, his first international competition, currently in second place after his short program earlier.

Now, he’s sitting in the stands watching the Seniors skate, because he wants to know what to aim for. He needs more inspiration that Viktor; that stuck-up diva may be talented, but like _hell_ Yuri wants to be like him.

Instead, he looks elsewhere—internationally – for his inspiration and motivation.

And just moments ago, he had watched … well, Yuri isn’t sure what he had watched.

It was equal parts amazing and frustrating, because the skater who is now waiting for his scores in the Kiss and Cry was _good,_ and yet _what the hell_ was that salchow? From Yuri’s position, the entry looked alright—he blames the distance and shitty rink cameras for why he doesn’t know what went wrong, not the fact that he’s only twelve and talented though he may be, he still has a hard time seeing the mistakes that lead to most falls.

So for whatever reason, this skater, he was amazing until he had to jump, and then he was frustratingly _okay_.

Kind of the opposite of Viktor, Yuri smirks.

When the skater’s scores are announced, Yuri’s blood runs cold. “And the scores for Yuri Katsuki are…”

 _Yuri_. The skater’s name is _also_ Yuri.

He’s gonna kick this imposter-Yuri’s ass. He’s only twelve, but he knows that he’s going to wipe the floors with this other-Yuri.

A new goal solidifies in Yuri’s mind: he’s going to kick ass at every Juniors event possible, he’s going to move up to Seniors the second he’s old enough, and he’s going to kick Yuri Katsuki’s ass.

* * *

He just keeps his head down and practices his ass off, making sure that whatever skills aren’t at their sharpest are the ones he puts the most time in on: he’s already a good jumper, so he works on his flexibility until he’s bendier than the girls at the rink, does as much weight and strength training as Yakov will allow—he has to be mindful of his growing body, apparently—but he does whatever he can to get to the top.

Of course, he’s still going to cop an attitude about it, because it’s his right as a tween to be angsty and give authority figures a hard time.

Yuri has to be the best at everything, and that includes being a pain in the ass to their coach.

It’s not his fault Viktor makes his job so challenging.

* * *

Yuri keeps an eye on Katsuki, for some reason.

He watches whatever videos he can find, new and old, and studies his style carefully, growling slightly when he sees elements of Viktor in Katsuki’s skating.

Despite the obvious Nikiforov inspiration, though, Katsuki’s skating style is entirely different—mostly in that he can’t do jumps like Viktor can, but it’s also too _safe_ , it’s not flashy and bright and wild like Viktor’s, or even Yuri’s own.

But Katsuki’s footwork is on a different level, and the glimpses of his passion that he allows to show are nothing short of stunning.

Yuri’s admiration often flares into anger, though, because he _can tell_ that Katsuki is a better skater than this. So why does he skate _like that_ in competitions?

He doesn’t know why, can’t explain it, but Yuri wants Katsuki to improve, desperately wants to see him land his jumps, to let loose.

Because he needs to be at the top of his game when Yuri makes it to the Senior circuit, so that Yuri can show him how it’s _done_.

* * *

Katsuki’s performance at the Grand Prix Final in Sochi is infuriating.

If anything, Katsuki’s skating seems to have _regressed_.

Yuri is fourteen, he’s angry, and he cannot believe that while he has been busting his ass, this pathetic guy, whom he simultaneously admires and loathes, has been doing whatever the fuck _that_ just was.

When he sees Katsuki duck into the bathroom at the arena, though, he hesitates.

What can he say? What is he going to do?

He debates a moment or two before following Katsuki in.

He pretends to check his hair in the mirror while Katsuki is in the stall, but it becomes clear when he hears a voice speaking quietly in Japanese that Katsuki’s not in there to shit.

No, instead he’s making some sappy phone call. He laughs about something and it’s the most flimsy, fake, pathetic laugh he’s ever heard.

Yuri only knows about five words in Japanese (three of which are not meant for polite company), but he stands outside the stall anyway, listening.

When the tears start though, Yuri snaps. He seethes for a moment before deciding that this whole thing is _stupid_ , and he kicks the stall door with all his might. (And given his skater legs, is quite a lot of might.)

There’s a gasp of surprised, followed by an apology, of all things,

Yuri rolls his eyes. This guy is a mess.

Or at least, he was today.

Yuri still thinks Katsuki _can_ be a good skater, but for some reason he just _choked_ out there today.

When the door opens, and Katsuki faces Yuri, eyes watery, cheeks puffy, Yuri can’t think of anything more annoying.

So he decides he’s going to help.

He stares down Katsuki with the most intimidating glare he can manage. Despite his willowy frame, he knows how to make his presence intimidating.

He can tell by the look in Katsuki’s eyes that he at least recognizes Yuri; whether or not he’s aware of their fated rivals status is currently unimportant.

Intimidating this guy is _way_ too easy. Yuri barely has to sneer and Katsuki is shaking like a leaf. Ridiculous.

“Oi!” he says casually, because sometimes yelling isn’t as scary as composure. “I’m competing in the senior division next year. We don’t need two Yuri’s in the same bracket. Incompetents like you should just retire already.”

 _Alright, that’s enough composure,_ Yuri thinks. He gets in Katsuki’s face and skillfully employs his extensive Japanese skills: “ ** _Baka_**!” he yells.

Katsuki recoils with a whimper.

And with a click of his tongue, Yuri walks back out of the bathroom.

 _That should do it_ , Yuri thinks.

Katsuki needed something to fight for, he was sure of it.

If some kid eight years younger than himself threw down a challenge like that to Yuri after a bad skate, he would be livid. He would be amped up and tear through his next competition out of spite and bravado alone.

He joins back up with Viktor and Yakov, who chews him out for dumb shit that doesn’t even _matter_ because Yuri still took gold, didn’t he?

Viktor offers a fucking _photo_ to Katsuki, who just walks straight away from him, which… surprises Yuri.

He shrugs it off, though, and turns back to Yakov, who is still yelling about what a disrespectful little shit Yuri is.

 _Tell me something I don’t know_ , Yuri thinks.

* * *

Katsuki seems to take the challenge Yuri issued in the bathroom in a _very_ confusing way at the banquet.

Yuri had clearly meant that Katsuki needed to shape up his routines, not get sloshed beyond reason and challenge Yuri to a dance off.

He wanted to face Katsuki _on the ice_ , not in an ill-fitted suit trying to breakdance to shitty pop music.

At the same time, though, there’s something that pulls Yuri out onto the dance floor.

Sure, he hates to turn down a challenge of any kind, but Yuri likes to think that if it were anyone else who issued the challenge, drunken and ridiculous like that, Yuri would have walked away.

But instead, he accepts the challenge, and he gets his ass kicked.

Things get wild from there, with that Christophe guy joining in and turning the dance-off horrifically sexual.

Yuri’s not a complete innocent, but he’s only _fourteen_ and he wishes he could have had more time to enjoy his adolescence before being polluted by Christophe and Katsuki _half-naked pole dancing_.

Viktor, the fool, seems completely taken with the whole situation, snapping photos, cheering on Katsuki (and receiving wounded, melodramatic declarations of “I thought we were _friends!”_ from Christophe). He even dances with Katsuki, doing some stupid matador routine that Yuri takes photos of for blackmail purposes later.

Before There’s something of a break after the latest round of dancing, and Yuri decides that his pride can’t handle his earlier dance-off defeat.

It’s stupid, but the added itch of it being Katsuki fuels him.

“No fucking breakdancing this time: free-style ballet,” he says. He can tell that Katsuki is also a dancer by the way he skates, but Yuri has always been the best at ballet in his studio, so he thinks this is a safe bet. “I will _crush you_.”

And as though he’s a completely different person from who he was in the bathroom stall before, Katsuki _laughs_.

He turns to Viktor, of all things, and hugs him, to Viktor’s confusion. Plus, Katsuki’s kind of … humping him, which has got to be awkward as fuck.

Katsuki babbles about his family’s resort and Yuri stamps his foot impatiently. The song that’s playing right now isn’t complete shit and he wants to dance to at least part of it for their contest.

And then Katsuki asks Viktor to be his _coach_ of all things, and while Yuri’s gut reaction is “oh fuck no”, the feeling is quickly replaced by… well, maybe that’s what Katsuki needs.

He goes to the dance floor, ready to start without Katsuki and declare victory due to forfeit if he must, but Katsuki joins him soon enough.

Yuri starts, wanting to set the bar, maybe intimidate Katsuki a bit, and Katsuki watches his form for a few moments before he begins to dance, too.

Their dancing is perhaps more _free style_ than ballet, but it’s definitely more in Yuri’s wheelhouse than breakdancing was.

Katsuki is surprisingly fluid in his movements, which Yuri attributes at first to the bonelessness of alcohol coursing through his veins.

Until, of course, Katsuki begins doing fucking _pirouettes_.

“The guy is sloshed!” Yuri hisses to no one in particular. “How is he doing this?”

Christophe, filming everything from the sidelines, laughs at Yuri’s exclamation.

Deciding there’s no time to waste, he begins to pirouette too.

He should, by all intents and purposes, have the advantage being sober, and yet Kastuki doesn’t slow down.

When they’ve both stopped for a moment, he turns to Yuri. “I think we’re evenly matched!”

They are.

“You wish,” Yuri sneers.

“Let’s start at the same time: sudden death!” he says, eyes sparkling. “First one to fall admits defeat?”

“You’re on, asshole,” Yuri says, throwing on the insult just for appearances sake or something.

“Ready?” Katsuki asks.

They take their preparation stances, and then begin.

The crowd begins to count their rotations. When they hit double digits, Yuri is starting to lose focus.

He can’t really see how well Katsuki is doing, but from the way the crowd is yelling, he must still be going strong.

How, Yuri has no idea.

At sixteen, though, Yuri spots something out of the corner of his eye. He knows better than to take his eyes off his spot, but the distraction is just enough to make him wobble and he has to stop his pirouette or he’ll fall on his face.

The crowd of skaters watching them whoops and hollers as Katsuki does two more pirouettes before realizing that Yuri has stopped.

Yuri has stopped, and is looking at his right wrist, exposed by his rolled up dress-shirt sleeves.

His wrist, which now bears a Name.

“Oh!” Katsuki says as he stops, and suddenly all those spins seem to catch up with him for a moment as he regains his footing. “Viktor!” he calls, and that’s all Yuri needs to see.

Yeah, Katsuki will be fine, Yuri thinks, tracing the letters on his wrist.

He should be surprised, maybe, but honestly, it all makes sense.

Katsuki will fight back.

And when he does, he’ll become the rival Yuri needs on the ice. It was one hell of a bad competition for him, but he’ll be alright.

He’ll fight back.

* * *

Katsuki doesn’t fight back.

In fact, he biffs so badly at Japanese Nationals that Yuri can’t even be angry about it. Instead, he’s just… bewildered.

The timing of his Name showing up had made him _so certain_ that Katsuki was the Yuri on his wrist: everyone knows that there’s always some trigger that sets you on the path towards your Fated Name.

The signs were obvious.

And yet Katsuki was skating like _that_ , before Yuri could even have a chance to compete against him.

Katsuki hadn’t left any world records to break, hadn’t won any major gold medals for Yuri to steal. How on earth was he supposed to be rivals with this guy who couldn’t even put in a respectable showing at his own nationals? Who can’t even qualify for Four Continents or Worlds?

Maybe Yuri had been right in his jab: maybe Katsuki _should_ retire.

Viktor seems weirdly down about Katsuki too, though he won’t talk about it.

Fine, whatever. Yuri doesn’t need that old fart’s drama.

But he does want to know what the hell is going on with his supposed rival: he refuses to believe that their entire rivalry was that night at the Banquet, because that would be the biggest fucking rip off the Fates had ever pulled.

Maybe Katsuki will become a coach or something, Yuri muses. Most skaters, especially those who make the Grand Prix Final, don’t just… leave skating.

He’ll stay, somehow. And he’ll be Yuri’s rival in whatever capacity he stays.

It’s less satisfying to think of having a rival who he doesn’t face directly on the ice, but he can work with less direct means, he supposes.

When he gets his left Name though, it better be fucking _good_.

* * *

It’s about time for Yuri to begin his Senior debut programs, so of course Viktor has decided to promptly fuck off to parts unknown.

Except after Yuri sees the viral video of Katsuki skating Stammi Vicino, “parts unknown” becomes a little more known.

The Instagram photo confirms a more exact location, though, and it sets Yuri’s blood boiling. He’s playing tourist in some Podunk little town in Japan? Seriously?

There’s been no official word, of course, but Yakov is thoroughly pissed anytime Viktor is even alluded to, which means that he probably knows what’s going on and is none too pleased about it.

Viktor has been the face of Russian skating for a long time, and not only is he apparently not competing this season, but he didn’t even make a big flashy press-conference statement about it, which Yuri finds highly suspicious and out of character for that dramatic asshole.

But somehow or another, it looks like Viktor took Katsuki up on that offer to coach him, and a plan hatches in Yuri’s head.

He fakes a minor injury—claims to tweak a quad, something vague and not long term—and Yakov tells him to take a couple of rest days.

Yuri packs his bag, asks his neighbor to check in on his cat while he’s gone, like she does for his competitions, and he heads to the airport.

* * *

Things certainly seem… cozy in Hasetsu.

Yuri doesn’t trust Katsuki’s sister Mari after she goes from fawning over how adorable he is to giving him that _stupid_ nickname, but things are … alright.

He had said he was here for the choreography, and while that’s not entirely wrong, it’s not the full story, either.

He needs to make sure that Katsuki is coming back, that he’ll give Yuri the satisfaction of an honest to god challenge for his senior debut.

Katsuki’s not retiring, just Viktor, apparently, and Yuri can work with that. (Of course, he wants to beat Viktor on the ice, too, but at least he’s got World Records that Yuri can steal.)

Not two days after Yuri’s arrival, though, Viktor asks perhaps the most tactless question he’s ever spouted.

“Do you have Yurio’s name on your rival wrist?” he asked Katsuki.

Yuri chokes a little on his water. How the hell else are you supposed to respond to that?

Sure, _he_ knows, but usually you let people confirm their Names with the other person before you go about telling other people about it.

“V-Viktor!” Katsuki stutters, red-faced. “You shouldn’t just... ask things like that!”

“I just think it would make a lot of sense, is all,” Viktor says nonchalantly, and Yuri hates to admit that he’s right.

It does make a lot of sense, and also proves to Yuri that Viktor has probably seen past the request for choreography and discovered the real catalyst for Yuri’s impromptu trip to Japan as well.

But Yuri’s never done this whole _Names_ thing before, and thinks that if Katsuki had wanted to bring it up, he would have done so in private, so he waits to see what Katsuki will do.

“I…” Katsuki begins, but clearly he doesn’t have the guts to actually say anything.

That, or he’s not sure.

Yuri rolls his eyes and pushes up his sleeve to show his Name. “I know you can’t read Cyrillic or whatever,” he tosses at Katsuki, “but do you know how pissed I was when this showed up after Sochi?”

Pissed isn’t exactly the emotion he was feeling, but revealing anything else, especially in front of Viktor, would be horrifying, so he covers it.

“Yurio!” Viktor squeals. “I didn’t know you got your Names already!”

Yuri grinds his teeth at the nickname, but lets it slide for now. “Just the one so far, actually,” he clarifies, because somehow, Viktor thinking he had some destined lover out there was kind of… gross.

Viktor is a romantic _sap_ , if the disgustingly soppy looks he gives his own Name is anything to go by.

“Ah, well, sometimes they’re delayed, and you’re still young!” Katsuki says. “I’m sure you’ll get the left one soon too.”

“Like I care,” he snaps. He _does_ care, but he’s 15 and in no rush. Especially not with how weird _this_ Name is shaping out to be. “Anyway, let’s see it.”

He gestures at Katsuki’s wrist, and Katsuki explains how to read the three simple characters there.

He and Viktor try to explain the difference between the Russian version of Yuri and the Japanese one, but Katsuki must be deaf or something, because he doesn’t hear it.

Whatever.

Yuri’s just glad this is all cleared up, out in the open now, because now he doesn’t have to worry about there being any miscommunication or misunderstandings: he’s going to kick Katsuki’s ass.

* * *

Onsen on Ice throws Yuri for a loop.

Viktor assigns him that fucking Agape piece, knowing full well that Yuri has never been the picture of innocence and pure love in his life.

Not that he was particularly interested in sexual love at his age—not publicly, certainly—but he could’ve fueled some of his passion for skating into it.

It couldn’t have been worse than Katsuki skating his seduction as a damn pork cutlet bowl.

But more than anything, Onsen on Ice confuses Yuri about the whole point of Names.

He’s always thought a rival was someone you were supposed to hate, your _enemy_ , but that’s not who Katsuki is for him.

They’re competitors, yes, but he doesn’t _hate_ Katsuki.

Hell, he even kind of admires him, though he wouldn’t admit that aloud over his dead fucking body.

It’s just… Viktor has always called it a _rival_ : not an enemy, not a “hate-mate” as Yuri had seen in media sometimes.

The right wrist Name isn’t meant to be someone you want to murder in cold blood like you see in action movies, Yuri knows.

But actually living it? Feeling that drive to beat Katsuki, to be better than him but not just to trample him, to make him watch and acknowledge and fight for the title too?

He’s not entirely sure what to make of it, but he can admit a defeat when he sees one.

And this, he realizes, is his third defeat at Katsuki’s hands.

There will _not_ be a fourth.

So he packs up his bags and returns to Russia, ready to skate suicides until he pukes to earn Yakov’s forgiveness, and prepare his season so that when he faces Katsuki on the ice next time, he _wins._

* * *

Yakov tells him that if he really wants to get to the next level, he needs to be prepared to sacrifice anything.

Yuri accepts, and the next thing he knows, he’s handing his life over to Liliya Baronovskaya.

If Yuri thought he was a good ballet dancer before, he was wrong.

He wasn’t even in the _ballpark_ of good.

Liliya tells him his flexibility is “abysmal”. _He can do an oversplit!_ In what world is that abysmal?

She asks him for his soul, and he agrees.

Allegro Appassionato is brutally fast, Liliya’s choreography absolutely ruthless.

If he can pull this off… Katsuki better hang on to his asshole.

* * *

Yuri’s hair grows along with his ambition, but it never seems to be _enough._

He takes silver at Skate Canada, behind that absolute asshole JJ, who calls him gross nicknames and refers to him as a fairy or a girl. (Yuri feels so bad for his girlfriend, honestly: he clearly has no respect for women.)

But then he takes second to JJ _again_ at Rostelecom, and he’s furious.

If he’s gonna lose to anyone, it damn well better be Katsuki, who had some whole soap opera drama with Viktor, who isn’t even _there_ on the day of the Free Skate.

Yuri tries to steer clear of their drama – at this point, he’s at least 90% sure they’ve got each other’s Names, as if that kiss at the Cup of China could leave much doubt – but he’s _pissed_ because for some stupid ass reason, Katsuki can’t seem to get his shit together if Viktor isn’t there making lovey puppy dog eyes at him or something.

Yakov seems equally upset at the way things have turned out at Rostelecom, though he seems mostly focused on Viktor asking for a favor when he’s still on Yakov’s epic shit list.

Yuri is pretty sure Katsuki knows that Yakov only accepted to be his one-day coach for Katsuki’s sake, and not at all as a favor to Viktor.

They don’t speak much, and Yuri focuses on his own skate.

Katsuki may be the name on his wrist, but he has truly unbridled disgust for JJ.

If Katsuki’s got his head in the clouds or whatever, then Yuri will just have to focus on another rivalry for the time being.

It doesn’t stop him from giving Katsuki those katsudon pierozhki though.

* * *

Despite his disappointment at placing second in both of his events, Yuri easily qualifies for the Grand Prix Final, and is relieved that Katsuki scraped by, too.

He wants to grind JJ into the ground, but he wants to _face off_ against Katsuki.

A skater who he weirdly admires but is equally frustrated by, a skater whose footwork is impeccable, and his emotions have finally been let lose on the ice this season.

If he could land some more of his jumps, he’d be nearly unstoppable, and that is _exactly_ what Yuri is hoping for.

So when he gets to Barcelona, he does his best to completely block out JJ, and focus on the rivalry he actually gives a damn about.

Except that’s easier said than done when Yakov and Liliya gang up on him and make hm take pictures with his screaming fangirls in the lobby, and _of fucking course,_ who shows up but JJ and his girlfriend.

Yuri takes it back: he doesn’t feel bad for her at all, okay? She’s clearly in love with that dumbass and clearly knows what a stuck-up freak he is. They deserve each other, apparently. Gross.

JJ suggests that Yuri is jealous of his “beautiful girlfriend” and it’s all Yuri can do to not gag.

Instead, he insults them both soundly, though he’s brushed off.

JJ waves down Otabek Altin, who offers JJ the courtesy of a response, but turns out the invitation to eat with him, so he seems like he might be an okay dude.

He makes eye contact with Yuri, unexpectedly, and Yuri doesn’t know what to do with that piercing gaze.

So he does what he does best: insults Otabek, too. “What are you looking at, asshole?”

As far as insults go, that was pretty tame, so he thinks it’s probably fine.

Kind of a shitty first impression, maybe, but Yuri’s not here to make friends, he’s here to bury JJ and to face his rival.

* * *

His fans are fucking. _Insane_.

They’re literally trying to sniff him out, like that isn’t _deeply_ disturbing.

He’s sprinted down an alley, and is considering how to get himself out of this mess when a motorbike roars down the alley, and its driver calls his name.

“Get on,” Otabek Altin says.

Yuri would have loved a moment to process what was happening, but some fangirl in cat ears shows up around the corner and the decision is made for him.

Hop on a potentially dangerous vehicle with someone he barely knows, or be left in the tender clutches of Yuri’s Angels?

Otabek tosses him a helmet and asks, “are you coming or not?”

Like there’s a choice.

Yuri snaps the helmet on as quickly as he can, and hops on the back.

Luckily, Otabek drives fast but Yuri doesn’t feel like his life is in danger, and after he adjusts, he can even lean back a bit and look around at the scenery that whizzes past them.

They end up in Parc Guëll, which Yuri admits is pretty cool with all those mosaic lizard statues and shit, but Otabek didn’t seem to bring him here for the scenery.

They’re up on one of the highest outlooks, a few feet apart, gazing over the city. It’s getting late in the afternoon, and the sky is a warm golden color.

“You think we don’t know each other, don’t you?” Otabek says.

“Huh?”

“You don’t remember that we’ve met before,” Otabek rephrases.

“We have?”

“Yeah. Five years ago. Yakov held that summer camp. I was there.”

Well, Yuri was a child five years ago, though Otabek is only three years older than him, so he’s not surprised that he doesn’t remember their encounter.

He says as much.

“I was in my first year in the junior division,” Otabek says simply, “but I couldn’t keep up with the Russian junior skaters, so they put me in the novice class. That’s where I met you.”

His face betrays nothing at all about how he feels about that. Yuri feels … uncertain.

“Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier,” Otabek says, as though _that_ makes any fucking sense.

But five years ago? He had just moved to St Petersburg, and he was a scrawny little thing with no right to complain. (Yet.) So maybe he still had a bit of the following orders from authority figures, but it was for purely selfish reasons.

Otabek tells him about how he had moved around, trying to improve his craft and make it in this world of skating, how badly he wants to win for his country.

“Otabek,” Yuri says when he’s finished, “why did you talk to me? I’m a rival, aren’t I?”

Of course, he doesn’t mean a _rival_ , because Yuri already knows who his name is, but it seems Otabek understands. Or at least, he doesn’t flinch.

Meeting some little kid once, five years ago, can’t possibly have been that big of an impact that he would suddenly deviate from his reputation of keeping to himself and not socializing to seeking out Yuri and literally rescuing him from his crazy fans.

“I’ve always thought we were alike,” he says quietly. “That’s all.”

Yuri frowns. How can they be alike if they barely know each other? Does that mean that Otabek sees himself as a soldier, too?

“Are you going to become friends with me or not?” Otabek asks, as though it’s really as simple as that.

Maybe it is, Yuri thinks.

He tries to tell if Otabek is joking, or if this is some kind of weird test, but the guy is stoic and calm like he’s been this whole time.

He has no real reason to lie or joke about being friends, either, Yuri supposes. Probably.

So he extends his right hand as a sort of peace offering, and Otabek clasps it tightly with his gloved hand.

“I see you have a name,” Otabek says, and from anyone else Yuri would feel aggressive or even possessive, but Otabek has completely destabilized him, so he just turns his wrist up.

Otabek is Kazakh, he should be able to read the name that’s printed there.

He just raises an eyebrow. “Katsuki?”

“Got it in one.”

“It’s a good match,” Otabek says.

“That’s my right hand, you know.”

“Yes, I mean that you’re a good match as rivals. Foils, I think is the term? You complement each other as competitors. It’s a good match.”

“Oh, I… yeah.”

Otabek shows his wrist, and Yuri is surprised to see it bare. Otabek says nothing, so Yuri takes that as his cue to keep his mouth shut too.

They stand quietly another few minutes, and for once, Yuri doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. At the rink, he feels like he always has to talk to get any attention, good or bad—when Viktor was around, it was because he somehow got into more trouble than Yuri—and having his own voice in his training was important.

Yuri begrudgingly admits that he doesn’t have much experience socializing, and Otabek doesn’t seem to either, but it actually seems … nice, to just exist with someone in proximity.

The view is amazing, but he doesn’t need to actually _say_ that—Otabek is right there, and can see it too.

So instead, he soaks it in and waits for Otabek to speak or to suggest they head back or something.

It’s a bit chilly, with the sun going down, so he goes to roll his jacket sleeves back down.

His heart stops.

 _Seriously?_ He thinks. _He asks me to be his friend and I get_ this _?_

Should he tell Otabek? Should he play it cool, keep it quiet?

Otabek seems to notice his internal panic, which only makes Yuri slap his wrist to his side with a choked off kind of sound.

He risks a glance at Otabek, who is now fixing up his own jacket cuffs, re-covering his wrists before Yuri can see anything.

“I meant what I said, Yuri,” Otabek says.

“Uh…” Yuri says eloquently, because he’s not sure what Otabek is referring to.

“We’re similar.”

“Oh.”

“And I think we should be friends.”

Yeah, they had shook on it and everything, Yuri’s got it. They’re friends.

But that was before… _this_ showed up.

Or maybe it’s what caused it to appear. Either way, something significant has changed here, and Yuri isn’t really sure what to do about it.

He’s 15.

They Grand Prix Final begins tomorrow.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Friends.”

* * *

Yuri kicks _ass_ at his short program, and that's being modest.

He beat Viktor’s fucking world record.

He’s a little disappointed that Katsuki didn’t step up his game more—didn’t even break 100, and he had done that at Rostelecom, so what the hell was going on?—but Otabek gave him a run for his money with an impressive 112.38.

Yuri is pretty sure that’s a record for Otabek, and he feels a fierce sense of pride stir up within him.

He’s not about to tell anyone about the new Name on his wrist, but at least to himself, he can admit that it adds a little thrill to the competition.

(And if he cheered for Otabek a little bit, there’s nothing wrong with that.)

Something is _up_ with Katsuki and Viktor, but after the whole engagement rings thing yesterday, Yuri really doesn’t want to know.

He just wants Katsuki to get his shit together. He’s supposed to be Yuri’s rival, dammit. His Free Skate better be phenomenal.

* * *

Katsuki’s Free Skate is nothing short of miraculous.

It's jaw-dropping. Breathtaking. Envy-inducing. Awe-inspiring. 

JJ’s monster score of 213.91 had seemed impressive when he had skated first of the day, though his disastrous SP gave Yuri some cushion.

And Chulanont skated fine, but he wasn’t any real competition for Yuri.

But holy fuck, 221.58, that little stamina _monster_.

Yuri had taken the SP world record from Viktor, but he had his fucking work cut out for him to steal the new FS record from Katsuki.

Holy shit.

He sends a silent apology for his disappointment at Katsuki's performance yesterday, if this is what he had in store all along. In fact, if Katsuki had scored much better yesterday, Yuri might not have had a chance in hell at taking gold.

Christophe skates next, and his FS is even worse than Chulanont’s. Whatever.

A little shiver crawls up his spine as Otabek takes the ice, and finds himself cheering again, despite the fact that he’s skating next and should really be focusing on his mental preparation.

Otabek is his friend, and… something else, but most importantly for the time being, a friend: he wants to see him do well. (And he wants to see him beat JJ.)

Otabek skates beautifully, but the technical elements aren’t all there, and Yuri feels disappointed when his combined score doesn’t break 300. He won’t medal, with Katsuki already sitting on the top of the board with a massive 319.41 and JJ just over 300.

With Yuri up next, Otabek won’t medal.

He sighs.

It’s showtime.

Yuri knows that he doesn’t have Katsuki’s stamina. What he does have over Katsuki, though, is better jumps, and the freakish pliability of a 15-year-old who hasn’t fully filled out.

Yakov tries to give him last minute advice, but Yuri tunes him out, as he usually does.

Nothing his coach could say right now will change his preparation or change his mind on what he’s about to do.

He does all of his jumps with his arms up, he screams and claws for as many technical points as he can.

He _knows_ he can’t beat Katsuki on presentation, so he forfeits a little bit of it to get him the gold.

He doesn’t need to beat the FS world record today; doesn’t need it to win.

He just needs more than 319.41.

When he finishes his routine, he holds his final pose for as long as he can, which is to say barely at all, before he collapses on the ice, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face, his back, gluing his costume to his sticky skin.

He’s amazed that the ice doesn’t immediately melt around him where his knees touch the ice.

When he can finally scrape himself off the rink, he skates over to the Kiss and Cry, where Yakov is waiting.

He says nothing, just sits and waits with Yuri for the scores.

When they’re announced, the roar of the arena is deafening, and Yuri can barely process if the screaming means he won or lost.

He looks at the scoreboard, and sees his name on top.

0.12 points.

Now _that’s_ a rivalry.

 _See you next level, Katsuki_ , Yuri thinks. _This one is all mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, for ur comments and kudos which give me life
> 
> i'm gonna go write my thesis now like i should be oops

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ! i thrive on ur Validation and feedback so please drop me a comment or kudos ^^
> 
>  ~~i kind of want to do a yuri POV for this fic... and maybe a sequel for when yuri p's second name comes in *eyes emoji* so let me know if you'd be interested in one or both of those ideas ?~~ chapter 3 is done now dreams really do come true (or something)
> 
> check out my other links on [my tumblr ](http://www.ricekrispyjoints.tumblr.com) !


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